From afar, the children watched.

A new ball had been found for Himmel Street soccer. That was the good news. The somewhat unsettling news was that a division of the NSDAP was heading toward them.

There was already a smattering of air-raid shelters in Molching, but it was decided soon after the bombing of Cologne that a few more certainly wouldn't hurt. The NSDAP was inspecting each and every house in order to see if its basement was a good enough candidate.

They'd progressed all the way through Molching, street by street, house by house, and now they stood at Frau Diller's shop, having a quick smoke before they continued with their business.

They could see the smoke rising out of the pack.

Liesel had only just come out and she'd walked over to Rudy and Tommy. Harald Mollenhauer was retrieving the ball. "What's going on up there?"

Rudy put his hands in his pockets. "The party." He inspected his friend's progress with the ball in Frau Holtzapfel's front hedge. "They're checking all the houses and apartment blocks."

He played onto it and Liesel was still standing. How could she get back inside without looking too suspicious? The smoke up at Frau Diller's was disappearing and the small crowd of men was starting to disperse. Panic generated in that awful way. Throat and mouth. Air became sand. Think, she thought. Come on, Liesel, think, think.

"You're hopeless, the pair of you. They need more air-raid shelters."

That's it, she decided, but I have to make it real.

"Rudy!"

"What -- basements?"

"No, attics. Of course basements. Jesus, Liesel, you really are thick, aren't you?"

Rudy scored.

Instant dryness seized the interior of Liesel's mouth. "For what?"

"Don't you know anything? Tell her, Tommy."

The ball was back.

Faraway voices congratulated him.

Tommy was perplexed. "Well, I don't know."

She had it.

As the Nazis progressed down the street, painting the letters LSR on some of the doors, the ball was passed through the air to one of the bigger kids, Klaus Behrig.

Think, Liesel --

LSR

Luft Schutz Raum: Air-Raid Shelter

There would be no killing.

"I'm fine," she answered, "really. I can make it myself."Just get off me, get off me!

It was worse.

The boy turned with the ball just as Liesel arrived, and they collided with such force that the game stopped automatically. As the ball rolled off, players ran in. Liesel held her grazed knee with one hand and her head with the other. Klaus Behrig only held his right shin, grimacing and cursing. "Where is she?" he spat. "I'm going to kill her!"

A kindly party member had seen the incident and jogged dutifully down to the group. "What happened here?" he asked.

"I don't think you're in any state to keep playing, my girl," he said. "Where do you live?"

"Well, she's a maniac." Klaus pointed at Liesel, prompting the man to help her up. His tobacco breath formed a smoky sandhill in front of her face.

That was when Rudy stepped in, the eternal stepper-inner. "I'll help you home," he said. Why couldn't he just mind his own business for a change?

"Really," Liesel said. "Just keep playing, Rudy. I can make it."

Again, she had to think, and again, she was able. With Rudy holding her up, she made herself drop once more to the ground, on her back. "My papa," she said. The sky, she noticed, was utterly blue. Not even the suggestion of a cloud. "Could you get him, Rudy?"

A minute later, Hans Hubermann was standing calmly above her.

Tommy snapped into action. "I'll watch her, Rudy." He stood above her, twitching and trying not to smile, as Liesel kept an eye on the party man.

"No, no." He wouldn't be shifted. The stubbornness of him! "It'll only take a minute or two."

He picked her up and helped her home. The game went on, and the Nazi was already at the door of a lodging a few doors up. No one answered. Rudy was calling out again.

A disappointed smile mingled with his lips. "I was wondering when this would happen."

"Stay there." To his right, he called out, "Tommy, watch her, will you? Don't let her move."

"Hey, Papa."

"Do you need help, Herr Hubermann?"

"No, no, you keep playing, Herr Steiner." Herr Steiner. You had to love Liesel's papa.

"Do you have a better plan?"

They had a minute to come up with a plan. A shemozzle of thoughts.

"The party," she whispered. Papa stopped. He fought off the urge to open the door and look up the street. "They're checking basements to make shelters."

"We'll just put him in Liesel's room," was Mama's suggestion. "Under the bed."

"Don't talk."

He set her down. "Smart girl," he said, then called for Rosa.

Rosa whispered, "Jesus, Mary --"

"That's it? What if they decide to search our rooms as well?"

Correction: they did not have a minute.

Once inside, Liesel gave him the information. She attempted to find the middle ground between silence and despair. "Papa."

The voice.

On this day, it was Papa who rose to the occasion. He rushed to the basement door and threw a warning down the steps. When he returned, he spoke fast and fluent. "Look, there is no time for tricks. We could distract him a hundred different ways, but there is only one solution." He eyed the door and summed up. "Nothing."

"Open up!"

A seven-punch knock was hammered into the door of 33 Himmel Street, and it was too late to move anyone anywhere.

Their heartbeats fought each other, a mess of rhythm. Liesel tried to eat hers down. The taste of heart was not too cheerful.

Papa was strict. "Nothing. We don't even go down there -- not a care in the world."

Papa came from the sink with a wet cloth and soaked it onto Liesel's knee. "Does it sting?" His silver eyes were caring and calm. The scare in them could easily be mistaken as concern for the injury.

"Yes, Papa."

Does he know? Liesel thought. Can he smell we're hiding a Jew?

The knocking resumed.

Rosa called across the kitchen, "It can't sting enough. Maybe it will teach her a lesson."

That was not the answer Rosa wanted. Her eyes widened. "Nothing? Are you crazy?"

"Liesel." Papa's voice sliced her up. "Just stay calm, verstehst?"

She tried to concentrate on her bleeding leg.

Clenched with distress, she shook her head and proceeded to answer the door.

"Aha!"

At the door, Rosa was still asking the meaning of this interruption when the kindly party man noticed Liesel.

Everything slowed.

"The maniacal soccer player!" He grinned. "How's the knee?" You don't usually imagine the Nazis being too chirpy, but this man certainly was. He came in and made as if to crouch and view the injury.

Rosa accepted it.

The party man stood and laughed. "I don't think this girl is learning any lessons out there, Frau…?"

"… Frau Hubermann -- I think she teaches lessons." He handed Liesel a smile. "To all those boys. Am I right, young girl?"

Papa gave Liesel's knee a final dab. "You'll have a nice bruise there, too, Liesel." Casually, he acknowledged the man above them. "Certainly. First door on the right. Please excuse the mess."

"Hubermann." The cardboard contorted.

"I wouldn't worry -- it can't be worse than some of the others I've seen today… This one?"

There was the discomfort of silence then, and the party man remembered his purpose. "If you don't mind," he explained, "I need to inspect your basement, just for a minute or two, to see if it's suitable for a shelter."

Papa shoved the cloth into the graze and Liesel winced rather than answered. It was Hans who spoke. A quiet "sorry," to the girl.

"That's it."

THE LONGEST THREE MINUTES IN HUBERMANN HISTORY

Papa sat at the table. Rosa prayed in the corner, mouthing the words. Liesel was cooked:

They listened to Nazi footsteps in the basement. There was the sound of measuring tape. Liesel could not ward off the thought of Max sitting beneath the steps, huddled around his sketchbook, hugging it to his chest.

Liesel tried not to break. "Yes, Papa."

"Would you like some coffee, some tea?"

"What are you waiting for?" It took great effort to wink at her, she could tell.

He walked to the hall and called out, "Everything good down there?"

I doubt anyof them had the audacity to consider what they'd do if the basement was appointed as a shelter.

her knee, her chest, the muscles in her arms.

The answer ascended the steps, on top of Max Vandenburg. "Another minute, perhaps!"

When Papa returned, he ordered Liesel to fetch a book and for Rosa to start cooking. He decided the last thing they should do was sit around looking worried. "Well, come on," he said loudly, "move it, Liesel. I don't care if your knee hurts. You have to finish that book, like you said."

"No thank you!"

They had to survive the inspection first.

Papa stood. Another idea.

They walked their separate ways, and when Liesel made it to her room, she closed the door and fell to her knees, despite the added pain. She listened first to the judgment that the basement was too shallow, then the goodbyes, one of which was sent down the corridor. "Goodbye, maniacal soccer player!"

In the corridor, she nearly collided with the party man.

According to Papa, Rosa melted next to the stove the moment the party man was gone. They collected Liesel and made their way to the basement, removing the well-placed drop sheets and paint cans. Max Vandenburg sat beneath the steps, holding his rusty scissors like a knife. His armpits were soggy and the words fell like injuries from his mouth.

The Dream Carrier simmered in her hands.

"In trouble with your papa, huh? Never mind. I'm the same with my own children."

"I wouldn't have used them," he quietly said. "I'm…" He held the rusty arms flat against his forehead. "I'm so sorry I put you through that."

She remembered herself. "Auf Wiedersehen! Goodbye!"

"You're alive," she said. "We all are."

It was too late now for apologies.

Papa lit a cigarette. Rosa took the scissors.